


A portion of Paradise

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Worship, Facials, Fingerfucking, Fingering, M/M, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 17:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13529118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Genji/Zenyatta pwp*Whenever Genji is beween Zenyatta’s legs, he feels invincible.He could spend hours there, languidly licking and kissing Zenyatta’s folds, parting them with his tongue, then his fingers, slicking them up with the lubrication that gushes out, freely, from Zenyatta’s valve… and he does.





	A portion of Paradise

**A portion of Paradise**

 

Whenever Genji is beween Zenyatta’s legs, he feels invincible.

He could spend hours there, languidly licking and kissing Zenyatta’s folds, parting them with his tongue, then his fingers, slicking them up with the lubrication that gushes out, freely, from Zenyatta’s valve… and he does.

It is indulgent for him, and bringing pleasure to Zenyatta makes him feel accomplished in a precious, intimate way that only he gets to experience –like this, he’s the only one, the sole focus of Zenyatta’s attention, the one who can make him quiver, shiver and cry out.

All this power is inebriating, addictive, so much power over someone usually so controlled, so calm –taking him apart in a way no one else will ever see, though Genji sometimes wishes they would, if only to make sure they know this Zenyatta is Genji’s and Genji’s alone.

He can take him apart, and enjoys doing so, over and over again.

Genji never stops at one –why would he, when Zenyatta is so pliant under him, shaking and trembling, chirps and gasps leaving his synth, precious and growing louder with every second?

Zenyatta is beautiful, spread on the bed, thighs parted to allow Genji between them, but the bed is not the only place Genji has him.

On a cluttered desk in an abandoned office at the OverWatch base, or against a wall, with Zenyatta’s hands digging into the wall behind him, frantic, his full weight on Genji’s face, or with Genji the one sprawled on a bed of grass, Zenyatta sitting on his mouth, grinding down on him. Once in a while, it’s right after a particularly heavy mission, when all Genji wants is to reassure himself they’re both still there… and in one particular occasion he has had Zenyatta ride his face while he was recovering from a botchered mission, one arm missing and woozy from pain killers.

Sometimes, Zenyatta’s thighs muffle his screams, a beautiful decoration to the sides of Genji’s head, but most of the time he can still hear him, loud and clear, screaming his name over and over, chirps and cries burning into frantic white noise, full of static and glitches, breaking down so beautifully.

Tonight, it’s one of such nights, where the contours of the world blur into darkness somewhere outside if their room, while inside, the metal shine of their bodies glints under Zenyatta’s forehead array and the gold of his core, and the green glow of Genji’s highlights.

Everything is velvet and heat and languid desire as he spreads Zenyatta’s legs with his palms, feels the give of his modesty panel underneath his fingers, and nuzzles the inside of his thigh before moving in.

He can stay there for hours, tongue massaging Zenyatta’s opening, slowly. Lapping at it, tongue flat, gasping against the soft, welcoming valve, its folds fluttering under his attention, even as he parts them with reverent fingers, spreading Zenyatta further to his eyes.

The nub that’s neatly tucked between the slot for Zenyatta’s prosthetic dick and his valve glows teal, the same colour as the slick that trickles out of his valve, and Genji never tires of giving it attention. Sucking it between his lips, flicking his tongue on its underside, testing how far he can go before Zenyatta starts arching up into him, needy and writhing.

Genji is good at this, so good, and he knows it.

He feels it with every shiver that racks through Zenyatta’s frame, his chassis trembling, his servos stretching, heels digging into the mattress, hands clutching at whatever Zenyatta is holding to keep himself grounded against the pain.

It does not last long, his attempt to hold out –soon he gives in to the pleasure, to Genji, drowning, and raking his fingers down the back of Genji’s shoulders. He never lasts long, enjoys giving his control over, allowing Genji to dictate the pace, being vocal because Genji enjoys it.

They never are quiet, unless they truly _have_ to, but even that is a delicious indulgence, because the soft, needy gasps Zenyatta makes, fingers trembling as they curl around his voice box, are just as sweet, just as beautiful as his loud screams.

Genji loves it all.

He loves when he makes Zenyatta come without even moving inside him, just insistently petting and licking at his nub and folds, feels them twitch against his open mouth as he swallows the first gush of teal slick, licks it all clean, tongue flicking against his lower lip, where a few droplets always seem to stick, and continues, drags out Zenyatta’s pleasure as he holds onto his thighs, until Zenyatta insistently pushes at his head, a plea for more, always more, that Genji is glad to grant.

Pushing the tip of his tongue inside is always like going home –a familiar, wet heat that sucks him in, and he eats with fervour, like a starved, thirsty man, and in a way he is one, for he never tires of Zenyatta, always needy for more of him.

More of his sounds, more of his taste, of his smell, of the way he feels under him, above him, around him, swallowing him down until Genji gets lost.

The way his own cock aches, throbs and burns inside his modesty plate is a pleasure all of its own. He wants to take himself in one hand, but cannot remove his fingers from where he’s holding Zenyatta spread, or from where he’s now sliding them inside that beautiful valve, because doing so would be a sin.

He enjoys the burn, and the pleasure that rolls down his back as he ruts mindlessly against a pillow, or against one of Zenyatta’s orbs that he floats to him for this exact purpose.

Every thrill of Zenyatta’s pleasure elicits a moan of his own, and he redoubles his efforts, drags out every orgasm he takes from Zenyatta until he lays on the bed, energy drained almost to nothing, so he can barely move an inch of his hand, and still tries to arch into Genji as he keeps fucking him with his fingers and tongue, breathless, wordless sounds coming from his synth that were once Genji’s name.

All of this, Genji covets.

He always tries for more, every time he does this –first there were two, then three, then more, and he drags it on for as long as he can go, as long as Zenyatta can go, takes all he can until Zenyatta is barely conscious, forehead array so low it almost goes off, and then he scrambles to wrap his arms around Zenyatta and ruts against his folds –never fucking him, he never manages to, coming with just a few thrusts, white and green lubrication spent all over Zenyatta’s midsection, marking him as his own.

He takes his own cock into one hand afterwards, oversensitive and burning still for more, and jacks off above Zenyatta’s face plate until he comes again, pleasure bordering on pain, and watches as Zenyatta receives it all, so weak and spent that Genji could blow hot air on his valve and he would come again.

It’s that thought that spurs him on.

Lube trickles down the side of Zenyatta’s mouth piece, filters through the seams, and Zenyatta moans, deeply, and Genji can’t resist, his hand trembling as he aligns himself, spent and oversensitive, with Zenyatta’s plump, swollen valve, slides inside and stays there, trembling, then he tries to move but it’s… it’s still too much.

So all he can do is grind his hips, gently, into Zenyatta, and feels his valve clench hard around his sensitive, burning cock.

It’s so delicious, and wet, and slick, and Genji gives a full body shudder, panting and groaning at how sharp and good it all feels, and then–

Zenyatta jolts underneath him, gives him one last, shuddery orgasm, forehead array spluttering offline, looking so beautiful, so well fucked, before he powers off for the night, so spent he appears deactivated, if not for the fans working overtime to compensate for the heat of his chassis.

Genji did this, and the pride, the satisfaction that he feels, the love that makes its way up in his chest are so overwhelming he almost feels tears burning in his eyes.

He falls asleep much later, curled up against Zenyatta’s side, and tinkers with the idea of a repeat in the morning –not for as long, they have things to do that require them out of bed– but just so he can get his fill, this craving that never truly ends, and is never truly sated.

 

 

 


End file.
